


Peril

by psalloacappella



Series: Particles [5]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Choking, F/M, Ficlet, Post-War, Sexual Content, sasuke scared and horny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:02:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28673421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psalloacappella/pseuds/psalloacappella
Summary: Six months past a world war, two weeks post-prison, and all he’s been dreaming of are her dangerous, beautiful hands.
Relationships: Haruno Sakura/Uchiha Sasuke
Series: Particles [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1919686
Comments: 8
Kudos: 43





	Peril

**Author's Note:**

> dedicated to a friend; backdated to publish date since I really just wanted a place to have a backup
> 
> orig: [twt](https://twitter.com/psalloacappella/status/1347750117147897856)

❦

“Sasuke-ku— ”

Everything burns: His mouth on hers, every inch of skin, the palms of her hands. She kisses him back, fiercely, tapping around behind her to locate the lock on the door. Her fingers touch cool metal; he hardly gives her time.

_Click._

She’s beyond caring about the sounds outside her door, because he’s crushing her against it to support her weight and her legs wind themselves around his hips and he’s hard, _there_ , he’s ready and none of it ever needs discussion. Hates that his shirt is in the way and that she’s still at work for two more hours and she might just tear it to shreds anyway, there’s extras in the bottom of one of her desk drawers— 

“Tell me,” he hisses. Slams his hand against the door and kisses her neck, feeling her rabbitquick heartbeat beneath his lips and tongue. “How did you kill him? With these hands?”

Stronger than any man, causing earthquakes with a well-placed tap of her foot, tearing a fissure in the earth with the strength of one finger. She can play a destructive tune, rattling the ground and bringing an army to its own bruised knees. 

Six months past a world war, two weeks post-prison, and all he’s been dreaming of are her dangerous, beautiful hands. 

When she understands what he’s asking about, she almost laughs — instead it lodges itself somewhere in the folds of her vocal cords. Perplexing and wanton in the same shaky exhaled breath: The day he watched her kill a man on their first mission just reunited as a dysfunctional triptych, there’s been a glimmer in his eyes she can’t quite parse.

Only he can do this, put her on display but also beg for clemency in some arcane code of silence composed only in the song of touching her.

But who was she, anyway, indulging it? _She knows what they say; about their team, about her. About him._

Who was she, imagining what it was to play with fire? 

“Of course,” she responds, tightening the embrace of her legs. Powerful, taut, the delicate threat. “People are … fragile.”

He groans, readjusts her hips, hand tangling in her hair and holding her head fast to the door. She trails her thin, cautioning fingers over his jaw and brushes the tips across the strong knot in his neck. 

He swallows, letting his eyes fall closed — breaths ragged and cleaved from his throat in thirsty mania. 

“I broke him … with my bare hands,” she whispers. Places her fingers on the side of his neck, thumb poised on the apple of his beautiful throat. 

Another low, strange groan vibrates against the pad of her thumb, and his hand falls from her hair and now moves between them, making short work of the layers of fabric beneath her dress; she reciprocates quickly with the hand that’s free, scrapes of her fingernails singing songs against the metal of his buckle. The bones of her shoulderblades bruise against the door as she’s pinned.

Never moving her thumb from its threatening perch, a finger on the trigger.

“And me?” he croaks. She knows what he’s asking, _do you hate me? Could you ruin me?_

The question is so sincere and perverse all at once that it threatens to undo her; his glittering, feral gaze skewers her right through. When he lifts her hips, brings her down hard on his cock, it tears a moan from her throat and now her thumb slips into the valley of his carotid artery, presses with a little more force now, and the potency of this feeling, and that frantic heartbeat, he realizes, is _his_ , threading this lovely, breathless strangling sensation around his chest and he isn’t able to breathe, 

and he doesn’t fucking want to.


End file.
